Deceit and Betrayal
by rantandrumour
Summary: He had already found him. But not in time. What really happened to Stuart Hunt? As two brothers in completely different places reminisce, the real story comes out. Possible Galex.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: A Night in Heaven**

He sat, staring into his pint. He knew what was going to happen tonight. He only got broody every once in a while, and technically, he wasn't supposed to. This was heaven after all. He looked at the clientele. Lawyers, addicts, policemen, the lot. Tonight more police officers would be entering through those doors. He knew what their heaven would be. The Railway Arms. Gene Hunt's favourite pub in Manchester became the outside of heaven for all the coppers.

Everyone had a different entrance to heaven, but everyone entered into the same room. He knew the artists would head into a huge art gallery, the musicians into a music hall. And everyone who came in would have their own view of this heaven. For him, it was the flat he had moved into with his brother after their father died. That flat represented true freedom.

However, he could see flickers of the Railway Arms appearing through his vision of that flat. Tonight was a drop off, it was adjusting for the man that brought the souls. When a guardian brought people to the doors, it would flicker, just for a moment, to what the people outside the door were seeing. That's how he knew what everyone got to see, even though he had never gone through the doors himself. No, he had entered in quite a different way.

The man who stood near the door left, and he stared down into his pint even more morosely. He longed to go out, to tell Gene that his assumptions weren't true, but he couldn't. He had already passed over. He had to stay in heaven.

Just a few minutes later, the doorkeeper came back in, followed by three coppers. He frowned. Large load tonight. Usually Gene only brought one or two. He went back to staring at the pint. None of them would know of him. Gene kept him secret.

He looked over as the door opened one more time and frowned in surprise. _Four?_ Gene never brought four people! It was too obvious! However, four new people there were, all finished with their time in the in-between world.

The last person in was a woman. She was incredibly beautiful, with short brunette hair pulled back in a quiff. Having died in the sixties, he found the clothes that the new people wore incredibly strange. The woman was wearing jeans that clung to her legs and red shoes with a bow on them. Her jumper was red and black striped, and when she took it off, he saw that it didn't even cover the tops of her shoulders. Instead she wore a black vest underneath to cover the straps of her bra.

The woman noticed him staring at her and made a beeline for him. There was a sadness in her eyes, but he knew that after a few hours, she would be content. The shock just needed to wear off. Very few of Gene's charges knew they were dead until hours before they were taken to the pub.

She sat down next to him heavily. "What're you drinking, love?" he asked.

The woman looked up at him, disconcerted. He smiled at her. Trust me, I've seen enough of Gene's charges come through here. You need a good stiff drink and someone to talk to."

The woman smiled. "Whiskey," she whispered softly, her voice posher than he could have imagined.

"Jesus! Where did he get you from?" he exclaimed.

She gave a small smile. "2008. Hostage negotiation gone wrong."

His mind was racing. "It's 2008 now?"

"In the real world. In Gene's world its 1983."

"2008," he whispered. "Do they have those flying cars?"

The woman laughed. "No. Nowhere close."

He sat back, slightly disappointed. "So what's your story?"

The woman looked surprised. "What?"

"Everyone here has a story. Everyone here at one point had a problem with how they died. What was your problem? Why did you go to Gene?"

She bit her lip. "I was shot."

"During a hostage negotiation?"

"I was the hostage," she whispered.

He was quiet, wondering if he had gone too far.

"I...I woke up in 1981 and spent two years in a coma. I think after Gene shot me I died in my time."

"Wait a second!" he said. "Gene _shot _you?"

The woman nodded. It was an accident. I went into a coma here, well, in 1982, and dreamed I was back in my time. But then he slapped me and I woke up from my coma, and went back to work."

He frowned. This didn't sound like the Gene Hunt he knew. Something was happening to him. His guardianship was going to end soon if he continued to stray.

"This man, this new man from D&C was there. His name was Keats. He manipulated me to uncover Gene's secret. He made me uncover who Gene really was. And after Gene remembered who he was, he sent me away."

So Gene _had _nearly lost his post then. He had never heard of Keats, but the tempters came in many different forms. If Gene hadn't saved those four tonight, if he hadn't remembered, he would have lost his guardianship. He would have had to move on.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't even ask your name."

She smiled. "Alex. Alex Drake."

He reached out his hand and shook hers. "Good to meet you, Alex Drake."

"So you know Gene?"

"Used to. Better than anyone."

"Did you work with him?"

He laughed. "God, no. I was too much of a screw up. Gene won't have told you about me. I'm his little brother. Stuart Hunt."

Her mouth dropped open. "Stu?"

"He _did_ tell you about me?" Stu asked disbelievingly.

"No," she said apologetically. "But my colleague, who came here before me, Gene told him about you."

"How did you hear about me then?"

"My colleague was in a coma. When he came back, he made these tapes of all the memories he had. I listened to them, and one of them was about when heroin came to the streets of Manchester."

"Heroin?"

"It's a new drug."

Stu nodded and Alex continued. "He was telling me about a conversation that he had had with Gene. If I remember right... Wait." She turned, scanning the masses, until she found the person she wanted. He was sitting with the three new people. Alex walked over to that table and spoke with him a moment before they both returned, the man with a look of shock on his face. The new man reached out his hand.

"Sam Tyler. I worked with Gene from 73-80."

Stu nodded. "He mentioned me?"

"Just the once. We were working on a drugs case and the brother of one of the suspects was killed. He was completely callous and when I got after him, instead of ignoring me, he looked me right in the eye. I remember he said: 'I had a brother. Some _bastard_ got him hooked on speed. I tried to knock sense into him, tried everything. Haven't seen him in ten years. No one has.' When I tried to tell him that we could try and find you he said: 'I already did, Sam. Just not in time.'"

Stu hung his head. "So he still doesn't believe it. He doesn't believe I ended up here. Same old stupid addict," he said in a perfect imitation of his brother. "You've gotta believe me. I died because of drugs in that world, but not because of an overdose. If I had screwed up there, I wouldn't be here."

Alex leaned forward. "So what really happened to you, Stu?"

Stu motioned for more drinks. It was going to be a long bloody story.

**to be continued**


	2. Changing Times

**So I realized that I didn't give any sort of intro to this fic at all. This was thought up the day after 3.8. I had this chapter written, but it's been untouched until I quit writing The Lost Chaps. This one called me, so I figure it must be the right time. This fic is how my imagination took "Deadland," as I call it, and I tried to make the rest of the story as easy to follow as possible. Shockingly, I've got this fic almost done, since I posted If Your Heart Stops Beating last week. Updates should be regular! **

**A thanks to those that reviewed last time, and to Rolephant for posting on my tumblr when I update (as I decided to give it up for lent...stupid idea.)**

**Chapter 1: Changing Times**

**6 July 1963**

Stuart Hunt stared at the money in his hands. He needed a hit. His last rush was wearing off and the fatigue was setting in as was the appetite. Stu knew the symptoms of when a rush wore off. He'd experienced it many times over the past eleven years.

Stu sighed. His brother would be disappointed in him, but that didn't really matter, did it? Gene Hunt had long disappeared. Over ten years had passed since the day Stu had last seen Gene. Stu knew one of two things had happened. Either Gene had pitched up and gone to Spain like he always threatened, or something had happened. As difficult as the last year of their relationship had been, Stu missed Gene. Gene was the hero he had worshipped, that he had hated to disappoint.

_Did a shitty job there, didn't I? _Stu knew he had disappointed Gene when he turned to drugs, but he couldn't help it. One hit, and then he had needed another. And another. And so the cycle continued until Stu was completely hooked.

And now look at where he was. Waiting in some dilapidated house in Farringfield Green for the dealer to show up. The place had to have been vacant for years. British flags were still hanging on the walls and a heavy layer of dust covered everything. Stu checked his watch. He still had another ten minutes until the dealer arrived. He looked nervously at the door. It was wide open, unable to latch properly. Stu figured it had been kicked in by some over-violent policeman. Had Gene not gone missing, Stu would have immediately assumed it was him. Stu looked up the hill, at a scarecrow that stood at the top and grinned. He checked his watch again. Five minutes.

He stuffed the money in his pocket and walked up the hill towards the scarecrow. It must have been left from the people who abandoned the house. The clothes were distinctively early Fifties and were slowly rotting in the open air.

For some reason, as he approached the scarecrow, a feeling of foreboding washed over him. Something glinted in the grass. He looked back toward the house and then back down at his watch. The dealer had said three o'clock, but Stu knew he'd be about fifteen minutes late. He had plenty of time.

He knelt down and picked up the tiny object that was glinting and frowned. Epaulette numbers. How odd. What were they doing here? Had they fallen off the uniform of some copper passing through?

6620. Stu frowned as he realised that those numbers used to belong to Gene. He had always wanted to be a copper. He would regale Stu with stories of what he would do to all the bad men once he was old enough to become one. And he had only been there a week before he disappeared.

Stu pinned the number on the scarecrow, wondering why Gene's number had turned up there. Suddenly, he was filled with the overwhelming urge to dig underneath the scarecrow. He had known for ten years that something had to have happened to Gene. Nothing would make him leave the job he loved just to go to Spain. Maybe several years down the road, but not in the first week.

Stu spotted a spade leaning against the house. He ran down the hill to grab it, and then back up. He had to know if his brother was there. Drug deal forgotten, Stu shoved the spade into the dirt. He threw away a pile and shoved it into the ground again, hitting something already.

Stu knelt down and started digging at the dirt with his hands. Within seconds a skull was bared. His mouth dropped. Half the skull was gone, a gaping hole where the bone should have been. He wanted to turn away, but couldn't, digging further, revealing the coat of a PC.

He dug inside the pocket and pulled out a warrant card. Stu opened it, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to admit that the brother he admired was dead.

_He just went to Spain,_ Stu thought, even though he had told himself the opposite only five minutes earlier.

Finally, he could bear it no longer and looked at the warrant card. It was as he had feared. Gene's photo was staring back at him, a smug look on his face. Gene's rank and badge number was right beneath, followed by his name and his signature.

Unable to look at it any longer, Stu stowed it back in Gene's coat, covering the body back up.

"I'll be back, Gene. You don't deserve a grave like that. I'll get you a proper one. A proper funeral."

"Will you?"

Stuart jumped as the voice of his dealer sounded behind him. He stood to face the man, a person of about thirty with long dark hair.

"Yeah. It's my brother."

The dealer smirked. "I don't think you will be."

"Why not?"

"See, the fact of the matter is; that PC stuck his nose where he shouldn't have. He got in the way, thought he was some sort of high and mighty man."

The man laughed. "He was a boy. A child in a man's uniform. Although I can't say much. I wasn't much older than him myself."

"You..._you _killed him?"

The dealer shrugged. "Well...yeah. And the thing is, you reveal where this body is, there's gonna be all sorts of cops swarming all over this hill. And I can't have that."

He levelled a gun at Stu's head.

"Just like your brother? You could go out the exact same way. You can even be buried with him."

The man laughed and cocked his gun. "Your brother didn't even have any time to say a last word. Couldn't even get a simple curse word out of his mouth before he was dead on the floor, half his face blown off."

"You bastard," Stu said, shaking in rage.

The man said nothing, simply laughing loudly.

"You can say hello to the idiot for me. Give him my best regards."

"Gene wasn't an idiot!"

The man laughed again. "You should've seen the way he swooped in here, like he was some sort of hero from the films!"

"He was more a man than you'll ever be."

"Whatever. Listen. I've gotta get going. Let's just get this over with."

As if in slow motion, Stu watched his finger pull the trigger and the bullet fly out of the barrel towards him.

As the darkness closed in on him, Stu stared at his brother's grave, apologising over and over again in his mind.

_I'm sorry, Gene. I wanted to help. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I'm sorry, Gene._

**1946**

_Two boys, one fair haired, the other dark haired. Both had the same glittering silver blue eyes, the same set of the face, although the fair-haired boy had a pout that had all the women doting on him. The younger, dark-haired boy thought it was just because his brother was older and that the older child was supposed to get the attention. _

"_Gene," the younger whined. "Why do you always get to be the cowboy?"_

"_Cause," the older named Gene replied. "I'm always the good guy. You don't ever see Gary Cooper being the bad guy, do you?"_

_The little one shook his head no._

"_I'm Gary Cooper. Always have been, always will be. Stick by me Stu," the older said. "If we get other kids to play, you can be John Wayne, and I'll be Gary Cooper."_

_Stu nodded. His brother was always right. His brother had always looked after him. Ever since the first time their father unleashed his fists on them when Gene was ten, and Stu just six, Gene had looked out for Stu, who often got the brunt of the beating._

_Stu didn't understand why Gene was never punished as badly as he was. He thought it was because the older child was treated better than the younger. Certainly that seemed the way for it to be. When Gene strode around the town with Stu, everyone smiled at Gene, ignoring the young boy at his side. But when Stu walked around by himself, he noticed he was the subject of stares, whispers and looks of pity. Was there something wrong with him being the younger child?_

_Stu kept up this train of thought until one day one of the boys, one of Gene's friends, came up to him._

"_I heard you killed your Mam."_

_Stu stared at the boy. "Where'd you hear that? I did no such thing!"_

_He knew his mother had died when he was just a baby, but surely he couldn't be responsible, could he?_

"_Me Mam told me. When your Mam was having you she snuffed it. You killed her."_

_Stu ran away in tears. He didn't kill his mother. If he did, he hadn't meant to. Was that why everyone loved Gene and hated him? Because his mother had died giving birth to him? Stu curled up underneath his favourite tree, the one that was so tall even his father could not reach the lowest branch. Only minutes later, he heard Gene calling his name._

"_Knew you'd be here. Saw you running. What'd Davy say?"_

"_Said I killed Mam. Did I kill her Gene? What happened to Mam?"_

_The blonde boy's face turned into one of rage. "No, Stu. You didn't kill Mam. You came out nice and healthy, and she fed you, and held you, and she and dad looked as happy as could be. She took a nap after having you. Birth wears women out. She didn't wake up from her nap. Dad said she didn't heal like she was supposed to. It wasn't anyone's fault. So you don' let anyone blame you, got it?"_

_Stu nodded. _

"_Good kid."_

_~(*)~_

_**30**__**th**__** May, 1953**_

_He didn't expect to be turned away from his own flat. But he had been. Gene had kicked him out._

"_You're hooked on shit, Stu. I'm going' on duty as a policeman next week. I can't have a druggie living with me. Either you get clean, or you stay away from me. Because if I ever find you, and you've got drugs in your system, I'll arrest you without so much as a second thought. Got it?"_

_He had turned away at that point, flipping up two fingers and going to a friend's flat. It was the last time he saw his brother._

~(*)~

Stu woke slowly, completely confused. He wasn't supposed to be alive. The shotgun had been so close to his skull that his head would have been blown to bits.

He opened his eyes, to see the same scarecrow standing on the hill. Stu walked down the hill. Gene's body could wait. He had to figure out what was going on first.

Suddenly, a figure appeared from behind the rotting house. He strode on up to Stu, and looked him straight in the eye without saying a word.

"Druggie, aren't you? I can take you in, I can help you get clean. How's that sound?"

Stu stared at this man. "I don't even know you!"

"So? I don't know you and I'm offering to help you. Let me guess, drugs completely destroyed your life."

"They killed me," Stu said.

The man laughed. "No one's dead here, mate! Unless there's some mysterious body buried on that hill!"

Stu grabbed the man by the lapels. "You know about that?"

The man pushed him away. "Oh, you're bad. High now, aren't you? Well, come on. I can still help."

Stu followed the man cautiously. "Where am I?"

"Manchester. Well, just outside. On Farringfield Green."

They walked back into the city and Stu took in the man's dated clothes. "Shouldn't you be wearing something from this decade?"

The man frowned. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. It's 1958."

Stu stopped dead. "1958?"

The man laughed. "Yep. Time comes as a shock when you're high, doesn't it?"

"It sure does," said a deep, growling voice behind him.

Stu turned to see the face of Gene, twisted unpleasantly into an angry scowl.

"But...you're dead," Stu whispered.

"No, Stuart," said Gene. "You are."

With that, Gene turned Stu around and started to arrest him, reading him his rights.

**to be continued.**


	3. Sibling Rivalry

**Thank you all for your reviews last time. I've been yelled at by Blue_Jackal and Rolephant because I took the Lost Chaps down. There's a poll on my page if I should put them up again or not. It'll close April 15th. Please put your opinion in!  
**

**Chapter 2: Sibling Rivalry**

Stu walked down the street with his brother, in complete shock. Gene was dead. He'd seen the body himself! Although, now, a part of him wondered if it had just been some dream that he had when he was crashing. But did he fall asleep in the middle of Farringfield Green? Gene started speaking, distracting him.

"I told you the last time I saw you to stay away from me Stu, unless you were clean."

"I wasn't really looking for you, was I?" Stu said angrily. "I've got no bloody clue what's going on here and I want it explained to me."

"You're high, and I'm taking you in."

"For what? You can't prove I'm high and I haven't got any drugs on me, have I, oh high and mighty copper?" Stu said, switching to sarcasm at the end.

"Shut it." Gene looked at Stu angrily before rummaging through the clothes he wore. "I'll find something to put you away on."

Stu's mouth dropped. "You're gonna put me away on no evidence, Gene? What happened to the brother I knew? The one who was going to be the squeaky clean copper, putting right the wrongs of the world?"

"Earnest young woodentops don't last long," Gene growled. "Scum like you go far worse than we will."

"Will you listen to yourself? Scum like me! You can't even prove I'm high. I don't know who the hell that bloke was, but he was talking out his arse!"

"You mean you're clean."

Stu looked away. No, he wasn't clean. He was killed in a drug deal gone wrong. Or at least he thought he was. But wasn't the idea of his death as good a reason as any to get clean?

"I'm trying to be. And that man was going to help me. But go ahead and throw me in jail. I'll sure learn my lesson then, surrounded by criminals who deal drugs under the radar."

Gene punched him. Stu took it, saying nothing as his nose slowly started trickling blood. Instead, he just stood, staring at the man he used to call his brother.

"Take these handcuffs off, Gene," he said softly, when the look in Gene's eyes had changed from fury to disbelief. "Take off the handcuffs and fight me like a real man. Cause if you beat me when I'm helpless, well, that makes you just as bad as Dad, doesn't it?"

Gene's face became furious once more. "I am _nothing_ like Dad!" he bellowed.

Stu said nothing again, just staring, looking for the man that used to be his brother.

"I can't be like Dad," Gene whispered, sounding broken.

Stu began to feel guilty. To compare his brother to their father was one of the lowest blows he could strike. But he needed to go that low; he needed Gene to see what was happening to him.

"Let me go, Gene. I didn't seek you out; I don't have any drugs on me. I was just minding my own business. Nothing but a passerby."

Gene stared at him and nodded, reaching his hand in his jacket. "One condition."

"What's that?"

"Tell me I'm not like him." Stu could have laughed at that moment, to hear his brother speak so fearfully of the man who had died long ago. He could have laughed at the fact that that was the only thing between his freedom and being taken to jail. He could have laughed at the broken look in his brother's eyes, the silent desperation pleading him to say that it wasn't true. But Stu didn't laugh, he didn't even get the urge, because he knew that if the roles were reversed, he'd want it the way. And he knew that Gene would never compare him to their father.

"You're not like him," Stu assured quietly. "I was out of order."

Gene's mouth curled up into a tiny smile before moving back down into a pout. He unlocked the handcuffs around Stu's wrists, putting them in his pocket before scratching his neck sheepishly.

"I'm not even actually on duty," he said.

Stu laughed. "You twat. Do you want to at least get a drink?"

Gene stared at him a moment. "No drugs are in your system?"

"Not unless someone passed by us and shot me up while we were talking," he replied sarcastically.

Gene nodded. "I know a place." With that, he strode off, leaving Stu to chase behind him. It wasn't any different from when they were children. As soon as Gene made up his mind about going somewhere, he would go, and if you couldn't keep up, then tough. They finally reached the destination, Stu huffing and puffing, and Gene looking up at the sign delightedly.

"The Railway Arms. Heaven on earth, my brother. Our own little piece of paradise."

Stu stared at the rain streaked sign that hung on the pub for a moment before noticing that Gene had already gone in. He sighed to himself. Ten years and nothing had changed.

Stu entered the crowded pub, looking around for Gene. He found him at a table, a pint already in front of him. There was one sitting across from him, reserving the spot for Stu. Stu sat down and stared at his brother, staying silent.

Gene studied him back, maintaining the silence before a frown crossed his face. "Christ, Stu, you've aged. You were fifteen the last time I saw you."

"Ten years does a lot to a boy," Stu said.

Gene frowned. "Ten? How old do you think you are, Stuart? If ten years had passed, you'd be twenty five." Gene laughed. "You'd be older than me!"

Stu frowned. He was twenty-five.

Gene's laughter stopped as he saw Stu's confusion. "Stu, it's 1958. I'm only twenty four."

"Right," Stu said. "Where the hell did I get ten from?"

A look of suspicion crossed Gene's eyes before he returned to his normal expression. "Not a clue," he said unconvincingly. "But look at you. You can actually grow proper facial hair!"

"Not that I want it much."

"Oh, I dunno. Could grow a Fu-Manchu or something." They laughed together.

"You haven't changed much," said Stu. "Just gotten uglier, really."

"You wish. You've always been jealous of my good looks and luck with ladies."

"Right. You keep thinking that."

The banter continued easily over the next several hours, taking them back to the days with their father, when all they could count on was each other. They had always been best friends, and five years and a few fights couldn't change that.

"So you've gotten out of that uniform, then," Stu slurred, surprised at how well Gene was holding up. Gene had always been able to hold his liquor well, but now, after five beers and a shot or two, he still looked as fresh as he had when they started drinking.

"Yeah. Made it to CID three years ago. I'm already a DS," he said proudly. "It's like they're fast tracking me through it."

"Gene Hunt, youngest DCI in the Manchester Police."

Gene grinned. "I certainly hope so."

The pub owner walked over to them. "It'll happen mon brav," he said in a Jamaican accent.

"Another round here, Nelson," Gene said.

"No," Stu slurred, aware of how drunk he was already. "Coffee for me."

Gene laughed. "Lost your ability to hold down drink, Stu?"

"No, you're just superhuman."

Gene grinned, ands a bunch of rowdy men walked into the pub. "Hunt!" one of them yelled. "Getting pissed without us?"

"You took too long!" Gene roared back.

The men sat around the table, looking at Stu.

"Jesus Gene. What did you do to him? You didn't make him drink as much as you, did you?"

Gene shrugged.

The group laughed. "Don't feel bad, mate," one said, who seemed to be the leader. "Gene can drink our DCI under the table and then some. And that's saying something."

Gene grinned. "Not my fault if you can't hold your liquor."

"Oi! For that you owe us all a round!" the man roared, motioning for Nelson to come over. Nelson brought over the beers and then a coffee, grinning at Stu.

"Sorry it took so long, mon brav. We don't get much call for this."

"So who is this?" the man said to Gene.

"This is Stu," Gene said. "He's my younger brother. Stu, this is my DI, Pete Wells." He named the rest of the men around the table, all DC's. Stu noticed the way Gene looked at Wells and knew that Wells was Gene's mentor.

The men drank for several more hours, regaling Stu with tales of Gene's stupidity and heroism. Stu had sobered up greatly, sticking with coffee. Finally, Nelson was closing up the pub, and he started pushing the drunken coppers out. They were all laughing, so loudly that none of them noticed the gunshot. The only indication that something was wrong was Pete Wells falling to the ground.

The group sobered up quickly. Gene took charge. "Anderson, go check down that way. Roberts. Go the other way. Warren, phone an ambulance." He knelt down in front of Wells. "You're not allowed to die Sir, you got that?"

Wells made an odd gasping noise, staring up at Gene through pain filled eyes.

"_Most painful moment of my life," someone said, interrupting Stu's story. Stu turned to see Wells standing next to the table. Alex and Sam were looking amazed. _

"_Sorry, heard someone say my name, and I had to come investigate. Old copper's instinct."_

_Stu merely nodded. _

"_He picked me up in his arms then," Wells said, continuing where Stu had left off. "He sat on the dirt, getting blood all over his clothes, repeating over and over that I wasn't allowed to die. 'Stay with me Pete,' he'd say. But eventually it all got too much. The next thing I know, I'm lying in the entry, the door shutting behind me. Somehow I had made it to heaven."_

"_He got promoted to DI right after that," Stu continued. "It was unheard of, someone advancing to DI less than a year after he had made DS. But Gene Hunt had done it."_

Gene came home from the funeral, throwing his jacket and tie on the floor. He went to the cupboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He flopped down on the couch next to Stu.

"It's plain wrong, Stu. He shouldn't be dead, I shouldn't be DI. I'll be crap at it."

"No you won't Gene," Stu reassured him. "You were the leader there. The men already respect you. You're gonna be amazing. I bet you make DCI by thirty."

"As long as DCI Thomas doesn't snuff it too. The men'll think there's some kind of conspiracy or something."

Stu laughed and Gene grinned, dispelling the black atmosphere for a moment at least. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed," Gene said. Stu nodded, lying down on the couch that was his bed.

He picked up the book that was lying on the table and started to read it, trying to ignore the urge that was building inside. He needed the rush. It had been nearly a week and the craving was growing more and more intense every day.

Stu looked at Gene's door. He knew Gene would arrest him if he even mentioned speed. Gene didn't understand how it worked. He needed the rush. He didn't only want it, he _needed _it to survive. He had been hiding the intense longing for the past week, but now...

Stu shook his head. No, he was getting clean. He had to. He couldn't disappoint Gene again.

There was a small voice in the back of his mind, talking to him softly.

"_Just one more time, Stu. Once more wouldn't hurt anything. Gene wouldn't notice."_

"No," he murmured out loud. "He would notice. I can't do that."

"_Yes you can. Just swallow it. You've done it plenty. Roll and swallow. Roll and swallow."_

Stu shook his head, staring at Gene's door.

"_The high. The glorious high. Roll and swallow and it's yours."_

Almost unaware of what he was doing, he folded the blanket on Gene's couch. He went to the freezer and pulled a wad of bills out of the coffee can that Gene stored in there. So bloody predictable. Not bothering to write a note, Stu closed the door behind him, already knowing the best place in the city to get some speed.

**to be continued**


	4. A Brother's Perspective

**Yeah, so i have been horrible about updating this... Sorry! It's all written (except the very last chap)but I'm forgetting to post! Anyway, this chap is kinda explanatory to the whole world, to my view of it I guess. The rest of the fic will move between Gene and Stu, focusing more on Stuart of course, as this is his story.**

**Chapter 3: A Brother's Perspective**

**1983**

Gene Hunt sat at his desk, regretting sending everyone into the pub the night before. However, he knew he did the right thing. He hadn't recognised Keats at first, but after two nights ago, the uncovering of his body, he remembered everything. He remembered his purpose, and all the painful memories that went along with it. All the DI's that had disappeared, all the DS's, the DC's. He had dared not make friends with any of them because they all had to leave eventually. But then he had forgotten who he was. He hadn't even remembered when he took Sam and Annie to the Pub. He had just gone there with them for a drink. He knew they were ready to move on, and was going out to say goodbye. As he approached the Pub, he knew somehow he wasn't supposed to go in. So he had told Sam to buy him a drink and he'd be in.

Gene closed his eyes, trying not to imagine Alex's face as she walked away from him. Her eyes had pleaded with him to not send her away, even after they kissed, after he said 'Go'. As her hand had reached out on the door, he was ready to call out to her, to tell her that it was okay, she could stay. But he knew that she had to move on, or someone new would be in his position ASA- bloody-P and they wouldn't have the proper training to do the job. He remembered the day it had been handed over to him.

_Stu was right. He had made DCI by thirty. Earlier even. It was 1960 when DCI Thomas had taken him aside one night. Gene was only 26._

"_I'm leaving Gene," he said softly. Gene had wondered when Thomas would be moving on. He was fast approaching sixty-five and coppers that lasted that long were unheard of. "You're going to be my replacement. But the fact of the matter is, there's a little more to it than you might expect."_

_Gene frowned. How was there more to it? Just more meetings, surely?_

"_I've seen you show some of the signs instinctively, but you've got to know what's going on. There's going to be some hard truths coming towards you tonight, and you aren't going to feel ready for it. But you are, I guarantee you."_

_Gene just frowned lightly. "I'm not sure I understand, Sir."_

_Thomas smiled gently. "This world, it's not what you think it is."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_It's somewhere where we go to sort ourselves, after...after we die."_

_Gene frowned. "But sir!"_

_Thomas just shook his head, silencing him. "This is going to be painful to watch Gene. But it's imperative to your understanding."_

_The DCI led him to an interview room, set up with a home video system. A reel was already attached to the machine. _

"_Sit down Gene."_

_Gene sat, the DCI starting up the reel. It started with a clip of Queen Elizabeth the Second's coronation. Then it moved to him, 19 years old, looking terrified as he walked alone by a barn in the country._

_A crash sounded from the barn. Gene jumped, pulling out his gun and creeping around the door. "Damn kids," he muttered to himself. He kicked it open, pointing his gun, trying to control the shaking of his hands._

"_I'd drop that if I were you," said a deep voice._

_The reel only showed the back of the man, but Gene could remember his face perfectly._

_A gun went off. Gene watched himself fall to the ground as the man started laughing. _

_The reel ended, and Gene sat, staring at the wall in horror and disbelief._

"_Why did you show me that, Sir? What good does it do to bring back the pain?"_

"_This is important Gene. You have to remember who you are. You have to remember why you're here. You're a Guardian, Gene. Not an angel by any means. You're just here to help coppers get over their deaths and then take them to the Pub. Sometimes though, they don't make it. You have to help them. Do you remember two years ago, when DI Wells died?"_

"_Yeah," he said darkly._

"_Do you remember how you held him?"_

"_Yeah. It...it just felt like the right thing to do," Gene said. "Gut instinct."_

"_It's because you came to this world to be a Guardian. Your problems with your own death are so severe, that it's going to take years. The people you help are going to help you, and when the next Guardian comes along, you will know."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_I knew from the moment you stepped into my CID. You were a DC, hardly 21 and all the men looked up to you. Not many can do that. Plus the way you've advanced. You are the youngest DCI ever, Gene. And no one resents you for it either. They're all happy. There's another clue. And the biggest clue was how you arrived." _

_Gene frowned. "What do you mean?"_

"_Time fluctuates, Gene. When someone crosses over to our world, they have a residual memory of what happen. That includes what year they came from. They always come from the future, until the next Guardian comes. You'll know when that happens, just like I did. They arrive in this world the minute they left the last. Just like you arrived on coronation day, late in the afternoon."_

"_I don't understand."_

"_Let me give you an example. The last man that arrived before you was killed in 1950. He arrived in 1946. The real world doesn't move on the same time as we do. Two years there may equal seven or ten here. The further ahead in time the people come from, the longer you'll be here. So if you have someone in 1960 who arrives from 1974, you know you'll be here at least until 1974."_

_Gene frowned. "I don't even get a choice?"_

"_It's your second nature. You won't even be aware you do it," Thomas assured him._

"_So...I become this Guardian thing. What happens if I forget my death?"_

"_You mustn't. If you do, a Tempter will come. He will try to win over your CID and if he does, your time is done. You don't get to go to the Pub either."_

"_What do you mean the Pub?"_

"_The Railway Arms. The entrance to heaven."_

_Gene's mouth dropped open. "No. No way, Sir. I can't believe this."_

_Thomas smiled. "Fine. Come with me." _

_They walked to The Railway Arms together, neither speaking. Gene was still pondering all that he had been told. As the approached, Thomas started speaking again._

"_I'll walk in. Wait about thirty seconds after my shadow disappears, and you can go in. You'll feel it when it's the right time._

_Gene nodded and let DCI Thomas go in. Strangely, he felt like he should walk away for a moment, but that feeling passed and he walked into the pub, looking at Nelson._

"_Where's DCI Thomas?"_

"_I haven't seen him all night, mon brav."_

_Gene frowned. "But he just came in here."_

_Nelson shook his head. Gene was amazed. Was it possible? Had Thomas really just gone to heaven? Was he really going to be a DCI?_

_Gene laid a note on the bar. "I'll take a pint."_

DCI, _he thought. _I can drink to that.

He was roused back to awareness by a face in his window. Gene turned to look at it, but nothing was there. Sighing, he sat down and grabbed the book on the new car he was looking at. He half considered just getting a new Quattro, but he couldn't. The Quattro was Bolly's car, just like the Cortina was Sam's. He was almost glad that the scumbags had murdered the Quattro.

Gene stopped when he heard screaming from the office. He looked up, staring a moment at the man who had just crashed into his CID. He stood, moving towards the door.

"Word in your shell-like pal?"

The man stopped, staring at Gene. "What the bloody hell are you supposed to be?" he asked rudely.

"In my office, now," Gene said dangerously.

"You think I'm going to..."

"_Now,_ Inspector." He knew it was an inspector. Inspectors always came first. A new sergeant would come next, and then a WPC. He had enough DC's that Chris didn't need a replacement.

The man stared at him a moment before stepping insolently into Gene's office. "What year is this supposed to be?" he asked.

"What year do you think it is?" Gene asked lightly. Normally, he wouldn't put up with this crap, but he wanted to know how far in the future he would be in this station.

"It's 2008."

Gene smirked. He had to make fun of the man now. It was all part of the job, one, he had to say, of his favourite perks. "You're a regular spaceman, aren't you. Tell me, do you have flying cars? Has it come out that Doctor Who is real after all?"

"I don't have time for this," the man muttered. He started to walk out of the office, but Gene sprang into action, grabbing the man's lapels and shoving him into the filing cabinet. A memory flashed across his mind of doing the exact same thing to Sam ten years earlier.

"Let's get a couple of things straight. One: It's 1983. Not 2008. Two: I'm your DCI. I own you. I tell you when you come and when you go. You don't _breathe _unless I say so. The sooner you know that, the better. Got it?"

"Yes sir," the man said stiffly.

"Guv."

"What?"

"You don't call me sir. You call me Guv."

"Yes _Guv_," the man sneered.

Gene shoved him against the filing cabinet again. "Terry and Bammo will show you around. Out."

He let go and the inspector stalked out, where Terry and Bammo met him. He heard the man announce his name and froze.

"Peter Wells," he said. "I was named for my grandfather. He was a really great copper in Manchester. Murdered in 1950 during an armed blag."

No. This twat couldn't be Pete's grandson.

"Sorry Pete," he muttered.

As he poured himself a whiskey, he thought about what the inspector had said. 2008. He did the math in his head. He'd be sixty four in 2008. But that wasn't what was concerning him. Alex had said she was from 2008. Two officers from the same year? That was almost unheard of. Time was slowing down incredibly quickly. Gene wondered how many months Alex had been dead in the real world before the new inspector had been injured. The only problem was, he couldn't ask the man directly.

However an opportunity presented itself before he could think of one. "DI Drake?" Wells asked loudly.

Gene stood and moved out into the office. "I'd very much appreciate that," he said, making sure that Wells knew he wasn't just asking politely.

"DI Drake?" Wells questioned, holding the name plate.

"DI Alex Drake. She was the DI before you. Gunned down during a job," he said, wincing inwardly.

Wells' lips mouthed the name. "But I knew a Drake! She died in 2008, about a month ago!"

CID snickered. "I've already told you it's 1983, you twat. And Drake died yesterday afternoon. Not a month ago, twenty five years in the future."

CID was still. "Guv?" Terry questioned. "DI Drake?"

"She was injured when they started shooting at the Quattro. Daft mare hid the wound until it was too late." His voice caught a moment.

"What about Ray and Chris and Shaz?"

"Ray decided after Drake died that the army was a good idea after all. Right now he's in a recruitment office. He wouldn't listen to my attempts to get him to stay. Chris and Shaz are eloping. They're in Manchester at the moment."

"Is there going to be a funeral for the Ma'am?"

Gene shook his head slowly. "The wanker of an ex-husband came in with her daughter. He was listed as her next of kin. He specifically said none of our sort were allowed at the funeral. Didn't even let it slip where she'd be buried. We can do a memorial service soon, okay?"

CID nodded, all of their faces morose.

Gene retreated back into his office. His thoughts kept straying back to Pete. His grandfather had been Gene's DI. What an ill fated family. Gene thought back to the last night of his DI's life. Stu had stood there, looking amazed that there could be that kind of violence in the world.

Gene shook his head. He shouldn't think about Stu. He knew what had happened. Stu had promised he'd get clean, screwed up and died because of it. He had lost his second chance. It wasn't fact, but Gene was certain Stuart Hunt had gone to hell.

**to be continued**


	5. A Second Chance

**So yeah. I'm really sorry about the sporadic posting in this fic, but I just keep forgetting about it. I'm wrapped up in the Molly fic as well as another idea I have going for something completely different. Plus I'm not sure on the reception on this fic. But Stu deserves his story told. Thank you for those who review and make me continue to post this :)  
**

**Chapter 4: A Second Chance**

_Stuart stared at the table of people that had gathered around him. As his story had continued, people who had kept hearing Gene's name had wandered over. Many didn't even know he had a brother. Many of the people now were the men that Gene worked with in the seventies and the eighties. The group included a moustachioed man who said his name was Ray, a couple named Chris and Shaz, Sam's wife Annie and an older woman named Phyllis who had said that she had made sure that she gave him hell._

_As he began the next part of the story, the door opened. Two men walked in. Alex looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly. She waved at them and they joined the table. "Stu, this is Terry and Bammo. They were DC's. What year was it?" she asked, directing the last question towards them._

"_1986."_

"_Three years," she whispered looking distant. _

_Stu, growing tired of distractions, ordered another round and continued his story. _

"_It had been a year since I stole his money. I stayed clear of wherever I thought Gene might be. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to throw me in jail. Instead, I hung out in the slums, where drugs came quickly if you had the right money. That was the most dangerous part though, if you didn't. I learned this the hard way. Again."_

He woke slowly, every part of his body aching. He tried to remember what had happened to lead to this.

The memory came back quickly. He had handed over the money when a fist drove into his stomach. The beating continued until a kick to the head had knocked him out. However, Stu didn't remember anything that would cause the burning pain in his shoulder. Why was it not aching like the rest of his body?

He sat up, pushing a duvet off of him. Stu frowned. Why was he under a duvet? He had been left to die on the street. Had Gene found him? Had he been rescued?

Stu laughed at his thought. Gene wouldn't save him. Gene would drag him on into jail. Or wait until Stu woke up, and then punch him out again. If Gene had found him, he wouldn't be waking up under a duvet, would he?

Stu walked to a window, noting that he was bare-chested and a plaster covered his shoulder. Well, that would explain the burning pain, wouldn't it? He pulled the plaster off slightly, noting the angry red of what appeared to be a stab wound.

"It'd be best if you leave that on," said a quiet voice. Stu turned suddenly, shocked. Stood in the door was the man that had taken him off Farringfield Green last year. He hadn't changed much. The short cropped brown hair was straight and combed neatly back, and the bright green eyes still started back at him. However, the kindness that had stared back at him last year through the slight aloofness of his eyes was no longer there. Instead there was a darkness, like Stu had pushed it too far by being beaten up and nearly killed.

"What happened?" Stu asked.

"I found you on the street almost dead. I brought you back, cleaned up that nasty little stab wound on your shoulder and set you on the bed. You've been going through a withdrawal. Quite a disgusting sight really."

Stu frowned as the man smirked. "Seen plenty of those before." He started to turn. "Anyway, I'll give you some food and you can be on your way. Watch out for the bloke that tried to kill you. He'll probably try it again."

"Wait," Stu said desperately. The man turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Last year, you offered me the opportunity to get clean."

"I did. But you ran off and got yourself high again. I only offer once. As much as I hate to see a soul lost, your decision condemns you."

"Please," Stu begged. "Give me a second chance. I want..._need _to get clean. My brother, he..."

"He'll throw you in jail. Is that the only reason you want it?" the man asked dangerously.

"No. I mean, that's part of it, I don't want to go to jail, but I need to be clean."

"So what's your reason, then?"

"My brother, he's always been the person I look up to most. My dad beat us, me mostly because I killed my mum."

The man frowned and his mouth opened in surprise. His whole face had darkened in half a second. "You killed her?"

Stu flashed back to the conversation he and Gene had had when he was only eight years old. "She died a few hours after giving birth to me."

The man's face lightened, but he did not smile, all too aware of the guilt that Stu was feeling. "You didn't kill her," he said simply.

"That's what Gene said."

"But you still blame yourself."

Stu said nothing, merely nodding his affirmation. They lapsed into silence for a moment before the man spoke again. "Getting clean for your brother then?"

"He's disgusted by me. He'll hate me now. When I came here, he let me stay with him, and I ended up stealing all his spare money."

The man nodded. "You realize this'll be one of the hardest things you do?"

Stu nodded.

"If you do this, and you go back, I'm not helping you again. Do you understand?"

Stu nodded again, swallowing hard.

"Good. Nice to meet you. I'm Tom Cunningham."

"Stu Hunt."

They shook hands and Stu stared at Tom nervously. Tom, however, looked immensely cheerier. "Right!" he said, clapping his hands together. "I've got some lunch downstairs, made enough for two last night and today because I figured you'd be coming around soon."

"How long have I been here?"

"You were out the first two days. Mix of pain medicine I gave you and the nice little beating. After that, you started to withdraw, which took another three. This is day six."

Stu shook his head. "Six days?"

"Delirious for three. You'll want to have a shower after lunch, it's right across from your room."

Stu nodded as they started down the stairs. "How'd you know how to take care of this stab wound?"

"Used to be a doctor. Got a friend at the hospital that gives me some morphine and barbiturates for withdrawals. Completely off file, of course."

"So you steal it," he said, sitting down at the table.

"No. I pay for it. The man who orders is the man who gives is to me," Tom said defensively.

Stu said nothing, deciding it would be best to just eat what had just been placed in front of him. As he slowly chewed the meat, a memory came back of the week before Gene kicked him out.

_He was in good spirits. He had met his mates a while ago and the speed had been taken quickly. However, he knew this would soon change. The high only lasted so long. He just hoped that Gene wouldn't barge in again like he had a few nights earlier. _

_As the effects started wearing off, the door banged open. Stu hissed, the noise creating an extreme headache that hadn't been there moments earlier. He got up off the couch and accosted Gene at the entrance. _

"_Can't you ever once open the door like a normal person?" he exclaimed quietly._

"_I don't know what you're on about," Gene said, too loudly._

"_Quieter!" he hissed. He stared at Gene, taking in the uniform. "Why are you wearing that? You're not a copper yet."_

"_I had training today. In two weeks I become a fully fledged constable."_

"_You look like a ponce."_

_Gene said nothing, instead going to his room to change. However, as he started moving, something clattered to the floor. Stu picked it up, looking at the shiny silver pin. _

"_Hey, Mr. 6620. You dropped something," he taunted._

_Gene turned angrily. "Piss off," he said, grabbing the pin from him. _

"_I bet a proper copper could pin his own epaulette numbers on right. How are you supposed to catch bad men if you can't even put a pin on right?"_

_The next thing Stu knew, he was shoved up against a wall. Gene was glaring at him, murder in his eyes. Stu didn't care. The high was wearing off, but for the moment, he was still invincible. _

"_You listen, you little twat," Gene started, before breaking off with a moan of pain. Stu had kneed him in the groin. As Gene doubled over, Stu wriggled out of his grasp, running towards the door. _

"_You listen, you poncey wanker," Stu said giddily. "You won't amount to anything as a copper. I bet you don't even make your first week! And if you __ever__ shove me up against a wall again, don't expect to have children."_

_Pretending not to notice the hurt in Gene's eyes, he showed two fingers and left the flat._

"Earth to Stu," said a voice quietly.

Stu jumped and the man laughed.

"You were miles away there. Sorry."

"It's okay. Just a memory," he said, disappointed in himself. How could he have treated Gene like that?

"Anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"Just an argument Gene and I had a couple of weeks before he became a copper. I was awful to him."

"Were you coming down?"

Stu merely nodded.

"You weren't in control of your actions. Coming down makes you moody and angry. That doesn't dismiss them though."

He hung his head, staring at his plate. "It's no wonder Gene kicked me out. I was awful to him. And then he let me into his flat and I nicked all his money."

"Make that up to him," Tom said. "Get a job, get his money back, pay him back."

"Do you think he'll even see me? Or arrest me on the spot?"

"You have to make the first move. What he does is not in your control."

Stu looked down. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right! I'm always right! Now eat your lunch. You're starting to smell and I want you to take a shower before too long."

They laughed and ate the rest of the meal in silence.

_Stu stared down into his pint as the door opened yet again. The two who had joined in, Alex called them Terry and Bammo, waved the man over. Alex turned to greet him warmly before her face turned to one of absolute disbelief._

"_Pete? Pete Wells?"_

_The older man at the table turned to her, but her eyes were fixed on the new arrival, who was staring at her in similar shock. "Alex?" They both stood and embraced like two friends that had not seen each other in a long time. _

"_What happened to you?" Alex asked._

"_About a month after you died, I was called to a similar situation to what you handled with Layton. The sharpshooter shot, and the suspect moved just in time for me to receive a bullet. I was dead before I hit the ground," he said softly._

_She whispered her apologies, looking like she was longing to say something. "Pete, did you hear...did you hear how I died?" she asked cautiously._

_He looked at her. "A gunshot to the head," he said quietly._

_Alex shook her head. "No, I must have been in a coma for some of it; I got visions of them taking the bullet out, something about an infection?"_

_The younger Pete Wells stared at her apologetically. "No. Two policemen were down by the docks. They heard the gunshot and aid was there in less than five minutes, but you were gone. Dead on the scene."_

_Tears welled up in her eyes and she swallowed before asking the next question. "My daughter?"_

"_She was taking it hard, but her godfather got custody. Her father didn't even bother to phone."_

"_Bastard," she whispered through tears, before looking up at Stu._

"_I don't understand," she said tearfully. You said you had forgotten within a week. I was there for a year and a half and I remembered. After I woke out of my coma, I didn't really, but that's when I thought I died."_

_The older Pete leaned forward. "It's because you had something to hold on to. I had my little Jack, my boy, about two years old. I held onto that, onto him, my wife. I knew I had something to come back to. You said you were in a coma and you forgot. That's because when you're dead, dreaming about the real world, you realise that you won't fit in it anymore. You want to stay where you're happy, and you know you won't be happy there. So then you start to forget. I had a few days unconscious after a bloke took a bat to my head. That's when I realised all of this."_

"_And I wasn't even dead there," said Sam, "and I was starting to forget. I thought I wanted to go back, but when I had the opportunity, I almost passed it up. And then I killed myself to come back. The memory of the future was gone within a few days."_

_They lapsed into silence a moment before the younger Pete started to talk. "You said your son's name was Jack, and he was two when you died?" he asked to the older man, who nodded._

"_That was my dad's name. His father died when he was two years old. He named me after him."_

"_I think that makes me your grandfather," the older man said. The younger one stared in disbelief. They stood and hugged, moving to a different table to talk about everything that the older one had missed._

_Alex was staring brokenly at her glass of wine, the woman named Shaz rubbing her back. "It'll be okay, Ma'am. You'll see her again." Alex shook her head, covering her face with her hands. _

_Stu stared silently at his pint, lost deep in thought. The man had been sent to Gene only a month after Alex. Gene's time was moving faster. He had forgotten, but remembered in time. He had saved himself, but his time was ending. A new Guardian was going to be arriving. _

**to be continued**_  
_


	6. Do or Do Not There is No Try

**Chapter 5: Do or Do Not. There is No Try**

**1960**

Stu stood in front of Tom's door, trying not to look too guilty. He was desperate. Six months into Tom helping him, he had run off. He couldn't take it anymore. Everything had been going really well, but the craving had overwhelmed him. He had gone six months without a high, but the craving had been there, gnawing away slowly. Then one day, it got too strong and he had spent the next year and a half making up for that six months. The entire time, he felt guilty for what he had done. At least he hadn't stolen Tom's money.

The worst part was the time he had overdosed. He was lucky, it hadn't been by too much of a margin and he survived after much retching and pain. But that day, as he had been reaching for the bucket to vomit in, Gene had walked by. Stu was certain Gene hadn't seen him, but that's what made it all the worse. As far as Gene was concerned, he knew, Stuart Hunt was dead. That was when Stu had made the decision to go back and beg Tom's forgiveness. However, another three months had passed before he reached that doorway. He had already gone through a withdrawal, and when he woke this morning, he had decided to beg.

The door opened slowly, and Tom's face appeared. "Stuart," he said disappointedly.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm an idiot, I shouldn't have done it."

Tom nodded. "You're right."

"Please," Stu begged. "Help me."

Tom shook his head. "I said one chance. I gave you a place to live, to eat, to work and you turned that all down, Stuart. I told you if you went back you wouldn't have help."

"I can't do it on my own, Tom. I need you. You're the only one who offered me a chance. Even Gene just offered me jail."

"I offered you a chance, Stu, but you threw it back in my face. You said you were serious last time. You say you're serious about this now, but how can I trust you?"

"Please, Tom." Tears were coming to his eyes. He was absolutely desperate.

"Why? Why should I? Give me a reason why I should take you back in. Obviously your brother isn't a big enough motivation."

"I...I just want to be free. Free of the need, the dealers, the junkies, everyone. I don't want you looking down on me like I've disappointed you, I don't want the fury of my brother, the disgust of the people on the street. I want to just be _normal."_

Tom gave a smile. "That will never happen, Stu. The need doesn't ever go away. It may lessen over the years, but it won't go away. You may get back into good standing with your brother and the community, may get away from the dealers and the junkies, but you will always get the gnawing to go and have some speed."

"How do you know? You're a doctor! You've never experienced this!" Stu raged in a rival of Gene's fury.

Tom opened the door and ushered Stu in. He closed the door behind him and looked Stu square in the eyes. "You need to learn more before accusing someone, Stuart Hunt. I don't talk about my past much, but I am an addict to, shockingly enough."

Stu's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Yep. Phenobarbital. A barbiturate. I was a doctor like I said, and always stressed out. I took this once and it calmed me down. I kept taking it after that. I stole it off the shelves of the hospital. I nearly died from it. Ended up in a coma from an overdose. When I came round, I was out of a job and under arrest. I spent several years in prison, and then I vowed that I would help people so they wouldn't end up like me. And I very nearly did lapse on the way back to being clean. But I didn't. And now look at me. I have sedatives, barbiturates, in my own home and don't worry about having them here. Because even though the craving is there, I will not let myself take them. I have gotten strong by suffering through the withdrawals, through the cravings. And I tried to help you see that, Stu, but you fled."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I just..."

"You need to be strong. Do you think you can be strong?"

"I'll try."

"There is no trying. Be strong, or get out."

Stu said nothing, just staring at the ground.

"Can you be strong, Stuart Hunt?"

"I..."

"_Can you?"_

"Yes," he said weakly.

"You don't sound too convincing. _Can you be strong?"_

"Yes," he said much more firmly.

"Good. This time you'll have a rent. You can start looking for jobs tomorrow. Take a shower now and cut your hair and shave. You look disgusting."

Stu smiled. "Thank you Tom. You won't regret it."

"I better not. Now. You. Shower."

Stu laughed, and headed up to the shower, a memory coming unbidden to his mind.

"_What's this?" Gene asked, holding up a little bag of pinkish coloured powder._

"_Nothing," Stu snapped, grabbing the bag from him._

"_Doesn't look like nothing. Looks like crushed up tablets."_

"_So? There's no law against having crushed up tablets is there?"_

"_There is if they end up to be illegal."_

"_Well, don't take it to the cops then."_

"_Stu..."_

"_Piss off Gene. This is my room, isn't it? Why were you snooping anyway?"_

"_I was looking for that shirt you stole from me last week. I need it."_

_Stu looked down guiltily. "I don't have it."_

"_What? Why not?"_

"_I got in a fight on the way home and the shirt didn't make it out alive."_

_Gene sighed, looking at him annoyed. Even though he was four years older than Stu, they were already about the same size, Gene only slightly scrawnier than Stu. Stu knew, however, that the scrawniness hid the true strength Gene had. He had fought enough with Gene to know that Gene would easily be able to surprise and defeat pretty much any man. _

"_You should've told me."_

"_I would've, but you were asleep when I got home and by the morning I'd forgotten."_

"_You didn't wake up that morning. Don't you remember? You slept through the whole next day."_

_Stu thought back guiltily. It was true. He had been crashing._

"_Right. I forgot."_

"_Anyway. What am I supposed to wear? That was Ruth's favourite shirt."_

"_Something less poncey," Stu suggested which earned him a swat on the head._

"_You can buy me a new one then."_

_They laughed, and that was the end of the conversation._

The water trickled over his body making him feel clean for the first time in months. He did not notice this, however, still buried deeply in memories.

_A man with blonde hair and steely blue eyes stared back at him angrily. "You little piece of shit!" his father yelled, driving a fist into his stomach. Stu coughed, earning him a slap across the face. _

"_What do you have to say for yourself?" his father asked._

"_I'm sorry," Stu said, his voice high and clear and full of fear. "I didn't see the time!"_

"_You call that an excuse?"_

"_Please! Don't!"_

"_Shut it, you little bastard." His father pulled him up, so that he was hanging in the air, held up only by his father's hands on his lapels. "You need a lesson, I think."_

_Suddenly, Stu was flying through the air, looking down at the stairs that descended from the spot of the attack. There was a huge pain and then he was falling to the floor in a heap on the landing. He heard someone stomping on the steps and curled up in a ball, trying to make a smaller target for his father to kick at. _

_However, the steps moved past him and continued on. Stu looked up. Gene was storming up the stairs to their father, a look of rage on his face._

"_How dare you?" he seethed. "Stu's just a kid!"_

"_Shut it, Gene."_

"_No! You almost killed him! You threw him down the stairs!"_

"_He deserves it!"_

"_He does not! He didn't kill Mum. Stop blaming him!"_

_There was a cracking sound and a cry of pain. Gene put his hand up to his bleeding nose, touching it gingerly before squaring up to his father once more. _

"_BASTARD!" he bellowed, before taking a punch himself._

_The two exchanged punches back and forth before their father slumped to the floor, unconscious. Gene rushed down the stairs and picked up a shaking Stu in his arms._

"_We're getting out of here, Stu. He doesn't deserve us as children."_

That night, they had made promises to take care of each other no matter what happened in their lives.

"Didn't work out to well there, did it Genie?" he muttered to himself.

He stepped out of the shower and cleaned off the steam-covered mirror, running his fingers through his hair. It was true that his hair needed a trim. It was down to his ears now. He hardly looked like a respectable person. Stu grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped away the hair, making it look more presentable. He pushed it back, making himself look like a proper young man, except for the four or five days of beard growth. Stu wasn't a fan of facial hair. All he could figure out was that it was for inconveniently and unattractively catching food when you were out with your bird. No, he tried to stay away from it as much as possible.

He shaved it off and then walked into his room, surprised to see that Tom had laid clothes out on the bed for him. Stu put them on and went downstairs, where Tom was reading a book. He looked up as Stu entered the room.

"Well. Now you look human again. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Stu muttered.

"So, when was your last high? I need to know for the withdrawal."

"I already had it," Stu said. "My last high was six days ago."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Already five days clean. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"This means that you can start a search for a job tomorrow."

"But what about your shop?"

"I've already got someone to help me in there. I can't hire any more workers for there. You skipped out on your chance, Stu."

Stu merely nodded.

"I think the place next to me is hiring, but I'm not sure. You could always try the post office or something," he said with a smirk.

Stu said nothing, merely flopping in a chair and picking up a book from the side table.

"I got some more in the past couple years. You may enjoy them. I know how much you like westerns."

Stu nodded. It was one of the many interests that Gene had forced on him as a child. Every time he read a story, he imagined the two of them. Gene was always the main character of course. Gene had made it so that Stu couldn't imagine anyone else playing the lead in a western movie or book. Stu was always the leader of the adversaries, or if he was feeling particularly dignified, he was the lead's sidekick and Davy from his childhood was the leader of the adversaries. Stu grinned to himself. What a complete inferiority complex he had.

He stood, looking over Tom's bookshelves for the new western novels. However, as he looked over the books, one caught his eye. It was not new by any means; Stu recalled it being in their flat when he was fifteen. It was a Zane Grey novel, the last one he ever wrote. _Knights of the Range. _He grinned and picked it up, noting Tom looking at him.

"Typical," Tom muttered. "I go out and buy new books and you still choose one of the oldest in the collection.

Stu just smirked and sat down, immersing himself in the book.


	7. A Quick Mind and a Clever Tongue

**So...yeah. I kinda completely forgot about this fic. I'm currently working on 5 different things... I need to just focus on one at a time, I guess? Anyway! Chap six is now up, and if you're lucky I may do a megaupdate (3 fics at once) on monday :) **

**Chapter 6: A Clever Mind and Quick Tongue**

It had been two years since the day Stu had come crawling back to Tom's house. Tom had never been more right than he was when talking about Stu's addiction. Even now, he still craved for the speed, although the craving was less intense than it had been. He was still wary of going anywhere near the hangouts of dealers. He was established now, had a decent job and money in his pocket. If he passed the dealers, what would happen to that money? He knew that one day, he'd have to face it, but at the moment, he was staying away.

Stu tapped nervously on the table and took a sip of his beer. Nelson, the pub owner smiled at him warmly. Stu nodded his head in acknowledgement and stared at the door.

Gene didn't know he was here. He didn't know if Gene would even acknowledge his existence. But he had to try. His job had been going well and he had money to return.

There was a roar of laughter as the door opened and CID started walking in. Several of the people Stu had met four years ago weren't with the group. He wondered if they had transferred. The door shut as the last man came into the room. He swaggered towards the table CID had grabbed, but stopped. His grin faltered as he saw Stu in the corner, holding a beer. A look of fury crossed his face as Stu motioned him over. Stu watched him as he said something to the table causing them to laugh and then moved over to where Stu was sitting.

Stu motioned to Nelson for another beer as Gene sat down heavily across from him. "What do you want, Stu?"

"Several things," he said as Gene glared at him. "First off..." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wad of notes. He laid them on the table in front of Gene, who just stared at him.

"What is this?"

"What I stole from you four years ago. With a little extra. Count it as interest."

Gene pushed it back. "I don't want it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want the money you made by dealing, Stu."

Stu gave an exasperated laugh. "I was never a dealer, Gene. Could never keep the speed long enough to be able to."

"So where's the money from?"

"I have a proper job now. I'm a janitor at the hospital. A mate talked to one of his mates who was willing to hire me."

"How'd you manage to keep it?" Gene sneered. Stu sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I know this is difficult for coppers, but try to keep an open mind," he snapped. Gene quietly stared at Stu, lighting up a fag.

"I'm two years clean," Stu said.

A small smirk worked its way across Gene's face. "Yeah. As clean as last time, right?"

"You've got a wonderful capability of an open mind, don't you?"

Gene said nothing again, merely staring.

"You do know what capability means, don't you?" Stu sneered. He had always been smarter than Gene and although he didn't usually rub it in, he was annoyed now.

Gene glared at him. "You've wounded me to the core, right there Stuart."

Stu smirked. "I got help. I haven't had speed in two years."

"And how much of that figure is a lie?"

"I don't need this. Look. I just came to give you your money. If you won't accept it, that's your problem, but I'm not taking it back. I earned it fair, I've been clean two years and if you can't believe that then I don't believe that you're my brother." He stood, getting ready to go.

"Sit down Stu," Gene said.

Stu continued to stand, putting money down on the table for both drinks. "Goodbye Gene."

Gene stood suddenly, pushing Stu against the wall, holding him by the lapels. Stu tried to pull his knee up, but couldn't. Gene was standing on his toes as well. Instead, he stared straight into the steely blue eyes and spoke.

"Punch me Gene. Do it. It'll make you feel better, won't it? Tell you what. I'll wait while you get drunk and then you can beat the living shit out of me. How does that sound? After all, everything is my fault isn't it? I killed Mam, I made Dad the way he was, I screwed up your life. And then I tried to escape from it all. And you know what? The speed finally made me feel good about myself. It made me feel invincible. But now, I've returned to earth, to all the shit that's happened, and you mock me. Just remember that you're not the only one who had the shitty home life. At least..."

"What?"

Stu said nothing, continuing to stare at him defiantly. "WHAT?" Gene roared.

"Least I only turned to drugs. I have never, ever punched someone in anger. I'm not a drunk, angry bastard. I'm not like him."

The word was left unsaid, but they both knew what Stu meant.

"I'm not like him," Gene said in a strangled voice.

Stu said nothing, aware of the horrible blow he had just struck on Gene. No, he had never reverted to his fists, but he was clever enough to have a quick tongue.

"Take it back."

Stu looked at him. "I'm not going to. You can arrest me, let me go, whatever, I don't care. Just remember if you punch me you're just like he was." He felt the grip loosening on his jacket. "I won't sob for you like I did for dear old Dad though. I'm afraid I'm rather over that part of my life. After nearly being stabbed to death and almost dying of an overdose, beatings don't really hold much merit."

The grip grew even more slack. Stu continue to talk, slowly working his way out of Gene's grasp. "I suppose if you want to kill me you could do that too. I'm sure your copper mates would help you cover that up. Cause, after all, isn't that what you wanted? You wanted to be an only child? To have Mummy and Daddy all to yourself? I can't say you'll get them back when you kill me now, but maybe if you had kicked Mam's stomach none of this would have happened. Yes, a punishment for you and a few months of a grieving mother, but no screw up brother to deal with eh? Course, if you kill me now, that takes away the screw up brother too."

Gene's grip was now loose enough that Stu could slip out of his grasp. "I'll see you later Gene. Don't worry, I won't come here again. I've paid you back for the money I stole, paid for your drink, and a lot more of what you've done in your lifetime. I guess it's time to start my own life, huh? I hope you figure life out for yourself, and I hope to God you never _ever_ have a child of your own."

With that, he left the pub, Gene frozen behind him. Gene stood there for several moments, staring at the wall that he had shoved Stu up against.

"Guv?" his DI questioned.

Gene shook his head and turned back to his CID, who all looked concerned. "You okay Guv?" his DI asked.

"Yeah," Gene said distractedly, Stu's barbed words running constantly through his mind. One sentence repeated constantly.

"_After nearly being stabbed to death and almost dying of an overdose, beatings don't really hold much merit." _He could still see the hatred on Stu's face in his head.

A memory flew into his mind.

_He picked up his shaking brother from the floor after knocking their father out. Stu was only nine and was tiny. Gene knew that he didn't eat enough, that he was too afraid of their father to eat. He shook his head. They had to get out of there. _

_He carried the nearly unconscious Stu through the streets of Manchester, not exactly knowing where he was going. They'd have to find somewhere to stay soon, winter was coming and he wouldn't let his brother live on the streets. _

_Suddenly, he remembered a woman from a long time ago. His Aunt Anne. She had been their Mam's sister and stopped visiting when their father had forced her to. Gene knew that he had once gone to her flat with their Mam when he was young, but he wasn't entirely sure where it was. _

_He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, even though Stu was starting to rouse and crying out occasionally. _

_A street sign popped into his mind. Holdgate Close. He knew where that was. Gene started walking towards it, praying that his Aunt had not moved in the past eight years. It was fast growing dark but Gene walked with purpose, ignoring everyone on the street who was giving him odd looks. _

_A police officer tried to approach him, but he skirted around the man, hiding in an alley for a moment before continuing. _

_A few streets away, Stu woke up in earnest, starting to cry. "It hurts, Gene," he said softly._

"_Shh, Stu. We're not going back to Dad."_

_Stu looked up at him, his silver blue eyes scared and worried. "Won't he try to find us?"_

"_I dunno. But we won't go back with him."_

"_Where are we going?"_

"_We're going to see if our aunt will let us stay for a few days."_

"_I didn't know we had one," he said._

"_Dad made her stop visiting when you were one. She was right angry, I remember."_

"_Will she be mad at me for killing Mam?"_

_Gene stopped, looking down at Stu. "You didn't kill her Stu. I have told you this a hundred times over."_

_He nodded and curled up to Gene's chest, falling into a light sleep. Finally, they reached the street, and Gene stopped, trying to remember the number. However, he was lucky. As he was preparing himself, one of the doors opened and a blonde woman walked outside. Gene smiled. She looked almost exactly like Mam._

"_Aunt Anne!" he called. She stopped, looking down the street at the boys. She squinted a moment before recognition flowed over her face. _

"_Gene?" she asked in disbelief._

_He nodded. _

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_Stu. Dad threw Stu down the stairs and I knew we had to get out."_

_Anne looked down at the boy in his arms. Gene knew Stu was a mess, covered in welts and bruises of different ages. She gently pulled Stu out of his arms and then studied Gene. He knew his nose was swollen, probably broken, but he didn't care. _

"_You two can come on in. I'm not letting you go back," she said firmly. She took Stu to the sitting room, laying him on the couch. She instructed Gene to sit on one of the chairs while she went to get things to take care of their wounds. _

_Stu stirred and Gene moved over to him, holding onto his hand. _

"_Gene?" Stu said worriedly._

"_It's okay, Stu. Aunt Anne's taken us in. We aren't going back."_

"_Thank you."_

"_I won't ever let anything happen to you, Stu. No one will try to kill you again."_

Aunt Anne was the only good part of their childhoods. She nurtured them like she was their mother herself. However, when Gene hit seventeen, she became incredibly ill. No one was sure what she was ill with, but she died soon after the illness struck. She had left Gene and Stu everything, including the house and they continued to live there until Gene kicked Stu out. After that he had sold the flat.

He took a sip of beer, thinking of the promise he made to Stu that first night in Anne's house and laughed. So much for protecting his brother. Stu had been nearly killed once, and Gene himself had been ready to do it tonight. Thank God his brother had such a quick tongue. As much as it enraged him, it hurt him and that was the only thing that stopped him from hitting Stu.

Lost in thought, he stood, leaving his beer on the table and a confused CID behind.


	8. Death of a Brother

**A quick update :) Maybe i should be better about updating this one, eh? But due to circumstances completely in my control, I won't be able to post next week. That's why you're getting three different updates today :)**

**Chapter 7: Death of a Brother**

Gene walked slowly away from the pub, not looking back. Another DI sent away. The new one would be coming in the morning. He was wondering who to turn his attentions to now. Since he had sent Alex to the pub, he'd helped Terry, Bammo, Poirot, and now Wells. He sighed. He'd probably need to help WPC Johnson next. He knew that the DS, DS Keefe was still reeling, even though he'd been here for several years now.

_Just like Alex,_ he mused. Alex hadn't settled down until the very end. Only in the last few months of being there, after she woke up from her coma did she seem like she enjoyed being there. Before that she had been too busy, too worried about her daughter. She hadn't even known she was dead; she was convinced she was not. That had disconcerted him, he remembered. Sam had been like that too, but he actually had been in a coma.

Gene wondered why Sam was sent to him. People in comas were not supposed to come to this world unless they were on the brink of death and definitely would be passing over. Of course, who knew now? The technological advances that Wells had harped on about for the first couple days may have improved medicine loads as well. He knew that it had improved quite a bit since he had started as a copper in 1953. Maybe now, they came if they were on the brink and then just stayed if it was still touch and go.

Gene shook his head. He really had no clue. He needed to stop pondering about this. He needed to stop _thinking, _but he couldn't. Ever since 1983, since Alex had uncovered his skeleton, he could not stop thinking about everything. He knew that if he had not forgotten, this world would be more obvious, that it didn't trust him anymore. He was going to have to earn the trust of the world before he could again know its secrets. And that could take many more years. Or it may never happen. Maybe his replacement was on his way.

However, Gene knew that this wasn't happening yet. He still felt a compulsion to be in this world, had not yet tired of his job. DCI Thomas had been right. It was complete second nature to him now, and he often did not realise as he helped a person through the worst moments in their afterlife. He wished he could have helped Stu in the same way he helped those that entered his station. But he knew that was not possible. Stu was a different class of person, had a different Guardian assigned to him. He thought he may have met Stu's Guardian once, but he couldn't be sure. They had no way to identify each other, unless one came across another during a death of a charge.

_He was relaxing for the first time in weeks. The streets had been bad lately. He had cleared up two murders and a small drug ring in the matter of a month. It was no small feat, but Gene had accomplished it, earning him commendations from the Chief Super himself. He smirked to himself. He was a brilliant DCI, and he knew it._

_He pulled a book from the side table, staring at it. He was getting excited. Charlotte and he were going out tonight. She'd been getting annoyed with him lately, spending all his time at work. He had sweet talked her the week previously, and tonight they were going to see a film._

_Now, however, it was the middle of the afternoon and he didn't need to start getting ready until about half six that night. He stared at the title of the book. It was one of his favourites, _Knights of the Range _by Zane Grey. He opened the cover, noting for the first time an untidy scrawl on the inside._

Property of Gene and Stu Hunt

Take this book, and Gary Cooper _will_ be after you

_Gene laughed at the inscription. He had no idea Stu had written that and fairly certain that if anyone found it, they wouldn't have any idea why Gary Cooper would go after them. Long ago, when they were children, Stu would call him Gary, a call to all their games of cowboys and Indians. _

_He sighed at Stu's fate. The money had been placed back in the tin in the freezer, but Gene wouldn't spend it, still convinced it was gained through drugs. However, when they had broken the drugs ring they hadn't found him anywhere close to the alleys. He had heard nothing about him either. Finally Gene had starting asking around, seeing if any of the druggies knew his brother. One of them had known his brother. He didn't say much, just that he hadn't seen him in years._

_Gene was starting to wonder if Stu was actually telling the truth several years ago. If that was true, then he had been horrible to his brother. He deserved to be called like his father. He had been so close to hitting Stu that night in the pub, convinced that he was lying. _

_Gene sighed. He hadn't heard from Stu in two years, and he doubted he would again. He settled back into the couch, starting to read his book._

_Half an hour or so later, there was a knock at the door of his flat. Frowning, he stood. Who would be coming around? He wasn't expecting anyone, certainly. He moved to the door of his flat and pulled it open. A tall and lanky blonde man stood in his doorway. His tie was neatly done, and his hair perfect. His brown eyes flashed with sorrow._

"_Nielsen. What are you doing here?" he asked his DI._

_Nielsen cleared his throat. "Guv. Err...A call came in about a murder about three hours ago."_

"_You lot can handle murder enquiries, can't you?"_

"_We went to the scene," Nielsen continued. "The man who had reported it was still there. The victim had been stabbed in the stomach. We took in the man who reported it, and he told us that he had just been walking and found the victim. He said that he tried to help, as he used to be a doctor, but the victim was almost dead."_

"_Right. Couldn't this wait till tomorrow?"_

_Nielsen shook his head sadly. "No Guv. See, we need you to ID the body."_

_Gene frowned._

"_We believe the man to be your brother, Stuart Hunt."_

_Gene dropped the book that he was holding in his hands and pulled a shirt on over his vest. He slipped his shoes on and followed Nielsen numbly to the station._

_Could Stu really be dead? If he was, it was most certainly drugs-related, Gene thought darkly. They walked quietly down to the morgue where a body was covered by a simple sheet, lying on the slab._

_Nielsen walked over to the body and pulled the sheet down, revealing a handsome face. The jaw was strong, and the nose straight. The man's cheekbones were extremely prominent, speaking of a time where the man was probably malnourished. _

The speed, _Gene thought. _

_The man's eyes were shut, something Gene thanked the God he didn't believe in for. As it was, he could hardly stand staring at his brother like this. _

_Gene said nothing, merely nodding his head. Nielsen said nothing, covering the body._

"_Where's the doctor?" Gene asked, keeping his voice level._

"_In the interview room, Guv. We thought you might want to talk to him."_

_Gene nodded, leaving the morgue without a second look. He entered Lost and Found, seeing a man with emerald eyes and short cropped brown hair staring at the walls sadly. Gene sat across from the man, staring him right in the eyes._

"_Name," he spat._

"_Tom Cunningham. I found the man in the alley."_

"_What happened to him?"_

"_He was stabbed in the stomach. Not just the general stomach region, but the actual organ itself. The acid from his stomach...ate at his organs, killing him."_

"_No," Gene said closing his eyes, trying to keep a professional manor even after hearing about how horrible his brother's death was. "What were the events that led up to it?"_

"_I walked past the alley and I heard someone shouting about drugs and money. I heard the man saying something, but I couldn't make out what. I heard a grunt of pain and then someone yelling to grab his wallet. I ran into the alley, but the men had gone, and the victim was on the ground._

"_Didn't you try to save him?"_

"_Inspector...?"_

"_DCI Hunt."_

_A flash of recognition flashed across the man's eyes. "DCI Hunt. I tried to save him, but unless someone can get immediate medical attention – from a hospital I might add – after a wound like that, the probability of them surviving is low. I tried what I could, but I couldn't ring an ambulance. I tried to persuade him to fight, but his injuries were too severe for that."_

_Gene nodded. Somehow, he knew this man was telling the truth and didn't want to bang him up. He knew this man was not responsible for his brother's death and had to walk free. _

"_Thank you, Mr. Cunningham. If we need further assistance, we will be ringing you. Leave your number with one of my men."_

_Cunningham nodded and left the room. Gene let out a pent up breath before grabbing a long forgotten about item and throwing it across the room. He kicked over the interview table and threw a chair._

"_Bastard!" he bellowed. "You fucking twat!"_

_Unhappy with the destruction he had already caused, Gene knocked down a whole set of shelves. "If you were alive right now Stuart, I'd kill you," he said to the air. He longed to punch someone, something, anything. Gene opened the door to lost and found and saw Nielsen walking towards the door._

"_Get me a suspect to punch! One of them druggies we dragged in this week. The dealer."_

"_Guv, I don't..."_

"_JUST DO IT!" he roared._

_Soon a man was brought in, looking very intimidated._

"_Here's the way I see it. One of you __**bastards**__ got my brother hooked on speed," Gene said calmly, unaware that Nielsen was standing in the corner. "And I will personally hunt down every single dealer in this city until I finally do and then I will beat the living shit out of him."_

_The man nodded, trying desperately to work out of his handcuffs. The fury radiating off of Gene was immense; he could feel it flowing in waves. _

"_But I think I'll make you a warning for the rest of them," he sneered. Gene leapt at the man, throwing punch after punch until hands were on him, dragging him away. To his fury, the man wasn't even near unconsciousness and hardly any blood was showing. _

"_Let me go," he growled._

"_Go home Guv," Nielsen said._

"_Let me __**go."**_

"_No."_

A few moments later and he had been escorted out of the building, told not to return until he could control his temper better. He had returned right after Stu's funeral. The team was cautious around him for several weeks and he didn't blame them. He was tense and snappy all the time.

Gene suddenly realised; it was after Stu's death that he started to forget. He didn't want to believe that his brother had gone to hell, so he stopped thinking about heaven. After Stu's death and before Alex, Ray, Chris and Shaz went in; he had only taken six people to the pub. And he hadn't known that he was even taking those six.

Gene buried his face in his hands. Stupid bastard junkies. They had ripped away Stu's chance at heaven.

Gene sighed. He couldn't really do anything about it. Stu wasn't his charge. If Stu's Guardian lost him, that was his problem, not Gene's.

It didn't stop the tearing in his chest when he saw the body or every time he thought about it since. But it was his mantra, the words he repeated over and over again.

"_Not my charge. I couldn't do anything. Not my charge. Not my charge."_

No matter how often he said the words though, he always felt hollow inside. And he knew; that hollowness was because Stuart Hunt went to hell.


End file.
